


Exothermal

by gladiatorAviator



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Four Swords
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Phobias, mentions of Green and Vio, post-manga "everyone stayed as separate people" AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 19:56:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16687924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gladiatorAviator/pseuds/gladiatorAviator
Summary: ex·o·ther·mal. (adj)- occurring or formed by the liberation of heat.Months have passed ever since Blue was foolish enough to get tricked and turned to ice, months since he had to face the shadowy figure of the Great Poe, but every night brings them back to just yesterday. Cold is snapping at his heels and the dark is blinding his eyes; the fire can only do so much.





	Exothermal

**Author's Note:**

> We're heading back to the basics y'all! Four Swords was the first fandom I started writing for a decade ago, and I wanted to create something for it now that I know how to write fic. Enjoy!

Blue doesn’t think. He _acts_. It was everyone else’s job to think and he just followed orders. _Sensible_ orders.

He didn’t really know _how_ to think something through. How could one separate the feelings from the action? And how could one separate words from feelings? Words were cold, unfeeling, sterile. Sterile actions lead to disastrous results, a terrible deadened monotony that threatened to swallow up his entire existence. Feeling though, feeling held _passion_ behind actions, an entire world of color, nuances that could never be explained with words. Entire hues were washed over with words, losing the brightness they held, the infinite possibilities of color, the true meaning behind an action. 

Blue does not think. He _feels_ , then he _acts._

But how could one act when all they felt was a deep dark void of paralyzing fear? His body couldn’t act for him. He couldn’t logic his way out of this situation; that was far beyond his capacity. Everything bleeds to black, a knife twisting into his very soul, prying away spirit from body, like slicing meat off of bone. 

He could hear screams — maybe his, maybe Red’s — but his ears felt as though they were stuffed with cotton, turning sound into static. His sight seemed to smear as he could feel himself being _pulled_ upwards, yet could also still feel his feet glued to the ground. His soul, being ripped out of his body, his mind pulling away from himself to try to contain the waves of pure fear and shock. 

Black turns to white turns to blue turns to red. 

He doesn’t remember saying or doing anything, but light sears through the dark in front of him anyway. Feeling rushes through him again as cooling body meets fiery spirit. The shock of hot meeting cold is enough to make him freeze for a second — one second too long. His heart dropped to his stomach as he feels his feet leave the ground, getting sucked in, Red’s terrified face digging trenches through his memory. 

He’s trapped in the dark again, surrounded by the stench of rot and ruin, the sides of his prison pulsing as the creature spoke. He knows what’s coming next; the too-smooth sides crushing against his, _pushing_ all the air out of his lungs, his entire body flaring in pain as the pressure becomes tighter, tighter, unbearable, _he can’t breathe he can’t move and he’s going to die because he didn’t act fast enough..._

And just like that, the pressure is gone.

Blue’s stomach lurches as the ground beneath him gives way, darkness peeling back to reveal bright white. He falls into a powdery pillar of snow, cold air howling down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. His sword is in his hands again, the metal sticking uncomfortably to his skin, _just like all of the promises he couldn’t keep..._

There’s no crone to point him to the cavern this time. There’s only his feet, muscle memory taking him there, the motions rote and uncomfortably familiar. The wind pushes against him, propelling him forward, screeching at him to continue, grabbing him in its chilly hands and thrusting him forward. Time goes from hours to minutes to seconds, each breath he exhales inviting more of the freezing air to condense in his throat.

Sharp ice meets his hand as he continues deeper into the cave. The wind turns against him, pushing him backwards and hissing in his ears that he doesn’t belong here, _he doesn’t belong anywhere,_ that maybe he should just _leave_ forever and stop being such a burden. 

Pressure begins to bear down on him again, punctuated by icy spines that start to grow from his hands, his arms, his feet. He can’t stop himself from going forward, even as his mind screams at him to pull back, pull back, pull back. 

The light behind him is nearly gone, but Blue can still see clearly in front of him. He can see his face reflected over and over into the glass; the haughtiness in his eyes, the overconfidence in his shoulders, the pride in his arrogant saunter. Yes, _he_ is the hero and everyone else can _burn_ for all he cares. They’ve been nothing but a weight around his neck, dragging him down to their lowly level. When will they learn, that _he_ is the one that should be the leader and not that absolute _pushover_ Green?

_He knows that’s not true, that he would be a terrible leader, far too reactionary and blunt to be of any effect. He does his best as a weapon in someone else’s hand but that won’t stop him here._

Double vision blinds his thoughts as a particularly fierce gust knocks him off balance. Ice begins to coalesce around him, turning into pointed teeth that start driving their way through his skin. How much _good_ did that pride help him. Ice breaks skin, the stinging cold entering his bloodstream, halting any movement that could bring him out of this place. Sheets upon sheets encase him, freezing wind stealing the air out of his lungs, then ice filling his throat. Eyes cloud over as frost overtakes them, lips turn as blue as his tunic as he tries to gain a breath, _something, anything_ to keep him alive. 

Ice breaks through his heart, puncturing its weak membrane, a reminder that he is just as mortal as the rest of them. It curls around his heart, squeezing it until the beats are uneven, uneven, slowing, unsteady, stopping.

He can feel his last heartbeat leave him as his vision turns to an endless, absolute black.

\---

Nothing but the moon’s weak sliver of light breaks the encroaching dark when Blue wakes up, gasping desperately for breath. He can feel his chest heaving, but his mind is still trapped in ice, sluggishly shrugging off the nightmare, freezing him in it for just a while longer. He puts a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat like a terrified rabbit, frantic to escape his ribcage.

But it’s there, and it’s beating. He’s alive, still. Still alive. _Still alive._

Blue takes a deep breath, each exhale excising the ghost that can never seem to leave the back of his mind. _Third time this week,_ he grimaces as he slowly sits up in his bed. His eyes dart around his sharp-edged room, and Blue wishes that he could stand a little bit of mess, if only to make this room feel lived in. Everything lined up like soldiers awaiting orders, not a single thing out of place. Clean, which should help rest his mind, but today it just aggravates it.

_Uneven stone tile, dark and deep, blackness stretching in front of him endlessly, only the sickly brown of the temple walls throwing in some miserable color..._

Blue growls as he flipped back his bed covers. There’s no use trying to sleep now. He’s been through this enough times to recognize it, and he thinks the others are starting to recognize the dark circles forming underneath his eyes. He flinches when his feet meet cold ground, and he can feel ice in his throat again. He rips the duvet out of the bed and curls it around him; he’ll care about how much work that’ll take to get it back in perfectly tomorrow.

Slippered feet today. Going outside won’t help him; autumn is taking root and with it bringing a crisp, freezing air that kills everything it touches. He passes window after frost-laced window, the world around him dying and showing nothing except skeletons of once full trees, bleached bones reaching fruitlessly to the sky. He can taste the too-sharp air, can taste winter’s warning on his tongue.

He walks faster, moving away from the windows, throwing extra blanket over his head like a hood. _To keep his ears warm,_ he tells himself. He doesn’t hide. He _doesn’t._

He ventures further into castle, weaving his way through rebuilt hallways and unfamiliar territory. The candles in these corridors aren’t lit; there’s not enough resources to waste lighting hallways that hardly anyone walks down at night. Black pulses behind his eyelids as his hurried footfalls pound in his ears. Even this deep in the castle, the cold has permeated its way through, following him wherever he decides to run to this time. Left, left, right, down this too long, too dark hallway, another left, _was there anywhere nearby that was lit?_

Blue swallows hard, hoping that this maze of hallways isn’t just another part of the nightmare. He isn’t afraid, no, no, no, he can’t be afraid his job is to be unwavering support, the last support his teammates can lean on, _strong, sturdy, solid._

He doesn’t feel too solid when he bumps his way through doors that lead to light. 

Candlelit hallways. _Important_ hallways. That lead somewhere, somewhere where it’s bright and warm and maybe he should try sneaking off to the kitchens to get something to calm himself down, but no, no that’s through ink stone throats that he can’t, he can’t, he’s fine, he’s _fine,_ and doesn’t need that. He’s strong. He’s strong and he doesn’t need that.

_Liar._

Blue lets out a hiss, shaking the accusation out of his head. He slows his pace, breathing deeply, closing his eyes and seeing flickering reassurance of flame. Muscle memory directs him. Right, left, left, brightly shining stone gleaming back at him, another right. Encouragement with every step. He’s fine. He’s fine. It’s warm and he can’t taste the cold anymore and he’s fine.

He hears crackling in the distance and he hates how his heart soars. He glides through the great room, heading towards the flickering flames that are still keeping fast to red-hot embers and throws in a particularly large log, eyes hungry as a column of bright, bright hot fire ignites it and sends embers and ash flying above, winking out as fast as they appear.

Bones crack as loud as the fire as Blue folds himself into a plush sofa, wrapping his duvet tighter around him as his shoulders finally relax, mind blanking as he watches the flames dance around, tongues licking around the sweet-smelling wood, white-red rippling across the logs as the fire consumes it. 

There’s color, to fire. It’s not all reds. It’s not all _reds,_ and Blue can see his namesake holding fast to the logs, orange flanking, red surrounding, yellow rising. He hates how people think of him as water, as _ice,_ cold and unfeeling, washing off what should stick, too sinuous and slippery to be of any help, always going off on its own. No, he wants to be the center, the heart of the flame. Something that adds, something that everyone needs to survive. Warmth. Protection. Yes, he is a weapon in the right person’s hand. He needs to be or else he’d run wild, destroying everything in his path. But there, in the fire, there are other colors to subdue, to help mold and shape and keep everything where it’s supposed to be.

Blue sighs, curling into himself. He can feel sweat down his neck but doesn’t feel safe enough to shed his fabric armor. He pulls his knees towards his chest and his hands grip the duvet tightly as he hurriedly gathers himself into it, then rests his head on his knees, arms wrapped around himself as if that could be a substitute for another person, something else alive in the dead of night. 

The fire twists and turns, folding in and out on itself, distorting into pained grins with pointed teeth, faces with disappointed eyes, and back into unknowing primal figures. Blue can feel his head growing heavy on his knees, eyelids drooping as he stares blankly at the fire, watching black turn to white turn to red turn to nothing. Maybe, if he was a little more alert, a little more in tune with himself, he could glean some knowledge by staring into the glowing coals. There could be _something_ locked in the light, some sort of long-forgotten truth waiting to be discovered, something that could change him and make him feel like the way he is supposed to. 

But, he’s no philosopher, not someone like Vio, who would have unlocked the secrets of this fire, gaining something new and then hiding it away, hiding it behind eyes that have seen too much, with a purse of the lips that seem too cold, filled with too many words and not enough feeling. Perhaps he needs to learn how to do the same, and maybe then the dreams would fade and he would not feel so lost in the dark, so scared of shivers running down his spine...

No, no. Not scared. Not him. Not of such _petty_ and _small_ things. He’s just... avoidant. He just doesn’t like the cold like how people don’t like eating certain things. Winter is his least favorite season but that’s just because the days are shorter and things get darker sooner so there’s less he can do during the day. Regular, run of the mill stuff. Nothing doing.

Blue tugs at his duvet and burrows himself more into it. He should stop thinking. He should just keep staring with no thoughts to interrupt him so he can get warm enough to go back to sleep. Just him and the fire. That’s all.

_Coward._

Blue grimaces. He can admit he was scared, fighting Vaati and Ganon, but that was fighting _something,_ something that he could ram his sword into and watch it disappear forever. He can face monsters and not be paralyzed. Monsters are easy; as long as he’s faster, stronger than them, he wins. He wins and they disappear and he doesn’t have to deal with it anymore. He can train to be better, to fight more effectively so that they can disappear faster. He can deal with rowdy crowds and robbers; they don’t disappear, but he can still fight them, he can still fight them and win.

He can’t fight against concepts. He can’t train to be better and beat back the cold, break through the dark. He can only weather them out, try to survive through the images his mind torments him with, nothing to fight, nothing to fend off, nothing he can do. He’s rendered completely _helpless,_ and maybe that’s what terrifies him the most.

He can’t protect himself against concepts, against nebulous things that exist, but not exist. No form, no body, just something that tortures the senses and then leaves as fast as it arrives.

Oh, how he hates having the space to _think._

_I should really get back and try to sleep,_ Blue tells himself. _Walking back won’t be that bad. I’ve been here long enough. It’s warm here and I can take that with me and..._

And he can’t move from this spot because it’s _cold_ and _dark_ everywhere that’s not here, and he can’t put himself through the belly of the Poe again, through cold crystal caverns that trap him into sheets of ice and endless stone pits that show icicle spikes and he can’t, he _can’t._

He can feel his body shaking and tears evaporating off of his face, but it doesn’t register fully. His body is numb, and soon he’s laying down in a pathetic pile of blankets on the armrest trying to keep his sobs quiet between uneven, shaky breaths. How could he keep anyone safe when he can’t hold himself together? He’s never personally lived through winter; the sword was pulled in early spring and he’s already falling apart now that the chill is holding fast. What kind of knight,—what kind of _hero_ —can he be if he can’t even bring himself to face something as simple as _cold?_

Time stretches. Blue can see the fire flicker through blurry vision and there’s another distressed jolt of fear through his chest as he realizes that there’s no more wood left to burn; the fire shrinking as much as he is into the cushions. He can’t move. He feels too heavy and leaden and he can hardly register that he even exists here, here in the castle that should be his home but right now feels like a prison. His limbs are too weak against the weight of the world hanging outside of his flimsy fabric blanket. Bile rises in his throat as he constricts his eyes closed, tears continuing to slip out and run down in rivers past his cheeks, down his chin joining others forming a wet puddle on his duvet. 

There’s nothing to fight. There’s nothing he can do but wait for feeling to return to his body. Panic has set in completely and it’s curling tight around his throat and pounding at his heart, squeezing, squeezing him until there’s nothing resembling a hero left, only a small, scared boy who’s gone in way over his head. He should have talked about this with someone sooner. He should have said _something,_ but no, his stupid pride kept him from doing so. His stupid, arrogant pride, ruining him yet again. How is he going to _survive?_ He’ll never be as strong as he pretends he is. He can’t be the support he wants to be. The foundation is filled with pockmarks, cracks that grow bigger by the day, cracks that are too big to even think about patching up at this point. 

Not a hero. Only a hinderance. 

He’s still heaving breaths but the tears have stopped, but only because there’s nothing left to cry out but his eyes burn all the same. The fire is as small as him, curled around the last few blackened survivors and he can feel chill wind pierce through the exposed skin outside of his blanket. All he can do is bury himself and try not to let his mind slip back to those places where he is powerless and can only hope for them to quickly disappear.

The weight of the cushions shift and adrenaline fills his bloodstream, mixing with the vestiges of panic that still hold fast to him. Blue peeks out of his cocoon to see how much he needs to pull himself together. 

Oh.

_Oh._

Red.

Of course. Of _course_ it’s Red. _Maybe he doesn’t see me? Maybe if I’m quiet enough he’ll think this is just a pile of blankets and—_

Blue sneezes.

_Fuck._

Red jumps, startled. His brow furrows as he takes notice of Blue’s duvet on the sofa next to him, eyes widening as his meet Blue’s. His lips tug into a tired smile. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Blue’s eyes dart away and he shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak. He doesn’t want _Red_ to know that he’s trying to recover from a particularly bad panic attack. A panic attack. _Him._ Pushed into the ground and turned into a sobbing mess all over something that shouldn’t bother him anymore. It’s been months since it happened and yet, and _yet..._

_Ice reflects him back like broken mirrors and he can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise as those accusations meet his ears, the voice like knives twisting deeper into him and releasing that fear he kept tied up so tightly after everyone else disappeared._

“Me neither,” Red says, almost too cheerily. How is it that Red can manage his way through all of _this_ and yet Blue can’t? Red was there too, trapped in the darkness with him and Blue couldn’t save him, he couldn’t save him. He was swallowed up and nearly died, crushed to death by the weight of responsibility he puts upon himself. How does Green even manage this? Does Green even manage this? Or does he cry himself to sleep in the hours of the night where every fear is bigger and stronger than him, like he is now?

_All alone, scared. Terrified. He grips his sword tighter and runs deeper into the cavern as if he can outrun that nagging voice that maybe the rest of them died and he’s the only one left._

The weight next to Blue leaves and he can’t help his heart fluttering unevenly in his chest. There’s someone _here_ and he needs them _here._ Anxiety starts bubbling up in his throat again and he can’t stop the panicked whine that escapes his lips as he pokes his head out to see where Red is going. 

There’s a crunch of logs being added to the fireplace. The weight returns to his side, closer than before. Color returns to the room as the fire begins to eat through its new fuel. 

“Do you want me to get you anything?” Red asks, voice soft.

Blue shakes his head violently. _Please don’t leave me._ The words form in his head but they can’t leave his mouth. He’s still trying to even out his breath silently and he hopes Red won’t notice the chalk salt tracks that have been scored down his face and his chin. 

Red grabs something off to the side then settles in a close, but respectable, distance from Blue. The fire is now roaring comfortably again, with a heat that sears through Blue’s already dry eyes and salted skin. It’s warm. He’s not alone anymore. Perhaps he can start to feel okay again.

He hates that he can’t suffer through this alone.

Blue settles in, turning his attention back to the dancing fire as if this time it’ll be able to silence his thoughts. The fire crackles and snaps at his heels as he becomes uncomfortably aware of the heaviness of Red’s concern pressing down on his back. It’s bright in this room but darkness still crowds around him, the darkness of his own fear, mixing with a shroud of oppressive red. Fire snaps and sparks and howls and shouts, not loud enough, _never_ loud enough to drown it all out. 

Blue is adrift, all over again. Anxiety crowds its hands around his neck, threatening to squeeze tighter than before, perhaps this time to suffocate him for good.

_Fire roars, but not angry enough to ward off this monstrous creature before him. He can taste dust and bones, smell rusted blood and rotten flesh. His shadow waves wildly back at him on shattered stone walls, as if that would make him forgive what his shadow put him through in the first place._

Pressure on his shoulder yanks him out of the memory. 

“Blue?”

Blue seizes. _Red’s hand clenched on his shoulder as they both are frozen in fear, his will to fight gone in an instant, replaced only with the primal need to run away from the dark figure resting behind weak lantern light, melding all too easily with the shadows that never leave. It grins, and every ounce of willpower drains from him._

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” Red’s voice pierces through the darkness. His arm is wrapped around his shoulder, body pressed close, the warmth pulling him out of his memory. Blue’s body is still not _his;_ he’s still too numb to feel, his well of confidence that he puts in front of himself completely drained. It’s not him that curls into Red’s shoulder and starts sobbing pathetically again, he’s not the one finding Red’s hand and tangling it close to him, squeezing tight, anchoring his moored vessel. It’s not his heart that jumps when Red pulls him closer, becoming the fire he needs in order to survive. 

_Liar, liar, liar._

A pained shout reaches Blue’s ears; his own, only told by the rawness of his throat and Red flinching beneath him. When was he ever what he wanted to be? When was he ever strong, someone who was always confident, never reduced to _this?_ Was this his curse? This inability to accept all of himself? Did he miss all the stabilizing parts of a person when Link split into four? Only left with the dredges, and a fake mask of confidence to hide all the faults he inherited?

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” Red murmurs into his ear, running a hand through his hair. “Let it out. It’s okay.” 

_Is it though?_ Blue asks himself bitterly. It should be the other way around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it always should be. If he needs this support, then how is he supposed to be able to hold up everyone else? He is supposed to be _strong_ and that’s all his purpose ever was. Wailing miserably in Red’s arms? That’s his mark of being a failure. Unable to hold himself together, unable to stay solid under pressure. Pathetic. Useless.

Still, Blue is draped over Red and clutching his shirt with unsteady hands and burying his face in the crook of Red’s neck. He can feel Red shiver beneath him as cold tears reach his skin. His own breath is coming in short bursts; a battle within himself to try to calm down and also release the knot that has built up in his throat, choking out anything that could be construed as feeling like normal again.

Red’s saying something, but his voice sounds too far away to make anything out. Blackness is creeping at the edge of his vision, his lungs hot with breathlessness, throat beating in time with his anxiety driven heart. Red pushes him away, and Blue stops breathing.

“...Lu? Blue? Blue, you need to slow down,” Red’s sounding panicked and his fingers are digging into Blue’s shoulders. “You’re hyperventilating. Deep breaths, Blue. Deep breaths.” 

_Ice is growing down his throat and everything is so cold and numb. He shouldn’t have been so stupid! This was all his fault and he’s the reason why the rest of them will fail. All that will be left of him is a statue to his arrogance, lost and forgotten in some unmarked cave._

“With me, come on,” Red’s plea sounds distant. “Blue, please. Deep breaths.” Red’s hand squeezes his palm and he squeezes back on instinct. His hand is warm.

_The Four Sword hangs cold in a clenched fist, useless against this enemy, this force of nature that stops him cold in his tracks. Dead temple walls surround him, and he realizes he just escaped one tomb only to fall into another._

The fire sparks and hisses, and Blue jumps from the sound. Red’s sitting next to him again, arm up around his neck and securing his shoulder, hands interlaced in the space between. Blue takes in a heaving breath, reigniting frozen lungs. Red counts next to him slowly. He’s coming back to himself now. The fire is still burning in front of him and there’s sweat down his neck. He can’t feel his extremities, but the scratchy fabric of his duvet shifts along with him as he curls up next to Red.

“That’s better,” Red says, relieved. “You feeling any better?” He sits back, returning his hands to his lap, eyes intense as he studies Blue.

Blue scrunches his brow. He’s not feeling better, but he is feeling less terror than before, and he guesses that’s an improvement. “Y-yeah,” he says, grimacing at how his voice wavers, how raspy and unsure it is. This is not the voice of a hero.

“Good.” Red ducks away from him for a moment and picks something up from the floor. “Here, hold my yarn.” He thrusts a skein of yarn into Blue’s hands before he can say anything. “It’s easier if someone holds it rather than it bumping all over the floor.” Red settles in, knitting needles in hand, the project unfurling itself to the floor. 

The quiet clacking of needles blends in with the popping of the fire. Blue watches in determined silence as loop after loop of yarn adds itself to the rest. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. So, he watches as minutes pass, letting the lull of looping yarn engage tired eyes, soft yarn in his hands, slowly unfolding and being added to Red’s project. Every section, fitting in perfectly with the last, going from something small and singular into unison with the others, becoming part of a larger whole. Something useful.

The color in his hands is light blue amid pallid skin. Blue wonders if he’s ready to be sewed up again. Pretend to be strong. He can go another day. 

He’s not sure about another night.

“You haven’t been sleeping much,” Red says, jolting Blue out of his reverie. He’s staring down at his needles, fingers quick. More loops. “You’re not sleeping at all, are you.”

Blue feels his face grow hot. That last sentence wasn’t a question, but Blue pretends it is anyway. “No. Not much.” He thought he was hiding it better, but perhaps Red is just too perceptive.

Red hums. “We’ve been trying to decide how to bring it up.” His needles slow, and he glances over to Blue.

Blue averts his eyes. So everyone could tell. Great. He can feel tears edge at the corners of his eyes again, but with a few quick blinks he holds them down. No, he’s back to his senses and he’s not going to cry again. Not now, with someone else in the room. He can let his weakness go later.

Needles clack together, speeding up again to their regular rhythm. “Do you remember having to clean out the castle ruins?” Red says suddenly. 

Blue huffs a laugh through his nose. “How could I forget? I was sore for weeks.” Apparently he was the only one that could break apart the stones and carry them off the grounds. He remembers sunlight bearing down his back, the burning in his muscles and the feeling of doing something useful.

“I remember, too,” Red says softly. His hands stop and the silence is suddenly too overwhelming. Blue glances at him and sees Red’s eyes grow distant. He can see tears well up but Red blinks those down too. “You were too busy outside so you didn’t know.”

“Know what?” Blue’s fixated on Red and he sees the color drain from Red’s face as he dredges through the past.

Red shifts, turning away from Blue. “The bodies,” he says quietly. “The ones that didn’t—that weren’t killed neatly.”

Blue remembers cooling blood on broken stone when they first came running back to Hyrule Castle. Frozen hands groping the sky, their owners long since passed under fallen rocks. Knights ripped open on the parapets. The smell of sulfur and death in the air. Pure desolation, in only a matter of hours.

They are knights and they are used to the idea of death, trained against freezing when a member dies beside you, be it through sword or arrow, but training can only do so much against the real thing. There’s nothing to train against the sight of it, the smell of rotting flesh and the groans of those on death’s doorstep, but not quite inside. He had to move them, when he was clearing out the rubble. Each body he touched he could feel his very soul screaming, angry at himself that he wasn’t fast or strong enough, angry that there were some that only remained as limbs, unable to give a proper burial. Moving the dead felt like disturbing something that was supposed to stay sacred, treading upon holy ground meant only for those who no longer lived. 

“What do you mean?” Blue wracks his mind but can’t figure out how there could be something worse than the bodies he moved, the way his hands still itched with the blood of fallen comrades.

Red takes in a deep breath and this time it’s Blue that wraps an arm around him in a feeble attempt of comfort. “I was assigned to clear the interior,” Red begins. “They didn’t know, of course, what would be down there. I was-was in charge of making sure they could see, with the Fire Rod. It was the easiest way for light at the time. We were in the area that had been burned. They didn’t know—they didn’t know what was down there.”

The tears escape Red’s eyes and he stares deep into the fire. It’s starting to die again, darkening the room as if in tune with the mood. Shadows whip closer, threatening to smother them when the light runs out. 

“I hadn’t told them yet, what happened when we were separated.”

Blue purses his lips and bows his head, resting it on Red’s shoulder. Red was alone, his weapons gone, and tricked into taking the blame of arson. And where was he? Fumbling around in the snow, getting himself frozen and unable to continue. If Red never found him...

“You could see the black on the walls and ceiling, but it’s the smell that hits you first.” Red’s voice is nothing but a whisper. “It’s... terrible. You just know something is wrong the instant it hits you. The entire hallway reeked of it. It’s not something I thought I’d smell again. The village I woke up in, it smelled exactly the same. You can tell regular things burned there, wood and cloth and the like, but burnt flesh... it’s entirely different. Like burning iron and rotted meat and sulfur.”

Red shakes his head, blinking tears out of his eyes. His hands are trembling and he grips his knitting needles as if they could be a weapon against this memory. “You can taste it, too,” he continues, voice wavering. “It’s something that never leaves your senses. On nights like these I can still smell it, still taste it. But that wasn’t even the worst part.” Red pauses, inhaling sharply through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. His body shivers and Blue pulls him closer. “We—we came to the end of the hallway. The floors above had caved in, blocking out any escape. As we were clearing the rocks, on the other side you could see it. Burnt bodies, stacked up against each other like plywood, arms outstretched towards the tiny holes between the rubble. They had no chance. Even if they did, they were all squished together so tightly...”

The fire sputters and Blue glances between it and Red. _That probably isn’t helping,_ he grimaces. _One of us is going to be uncomfortable either way._ Instead, Blue presses closer to Red and moves his hand underneath one of Reds, knocking out the needle he is still gripping. Red sniffles and sets aside his project, leaning into Blue’s touch.

“We couldn’t identify a single one of them.” Red’s voice is gravelly. “They were all—they were too far gone to leave anything identifiable. There had to be dozens down there. All gone, with nothing to present back to their families, if they even had any family left. You could—there were bodies huddled around children, Blue. I-I bumped into one accidentally and what was left sloughed off. I still can’t get it out of my head.” Red heaves a breath, squeezing Blue’s hand so tightly that it starts to hurt. “I don’t really remember what happened next. I didn’t pass out but I couldn’t control myself; it was like I was detached from myself, watching me scream in anguish, hands covered in soot, unable to move. Ar-Artura was there and I think he connected the dots faster than everyone else. Next thing I knew I was waking up in the infirmary.”

“Red,” Blue starts, but he can’t think of anything else to add. He remembers hearing about Red in the infirmary in the haze of the heat reflecting off broken stone and being told that it wasn’t anything serious. He should have dropped his work right then and checked in on him, instead of writing it off. 

“You might remember, but I wasn’t assigned to any clean-up work after that,” Red says. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Blue holds his voice soft even though he can feel anger burning in his chest. He should have checked in on him. He should have checked in on him! What type of support was he if he was too busy with menial labor rather than making sure everyone is okay? That’s his job. His job is support and he failed once again.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Red slacks his grip, fumbling instead for his needles. “You would have blamed it all on yourself. You wouldn’t have been able to focus after that, and they needed you more than I did.”

Blue stammers, but he can’t find an excuse. “I-why? Did the others know?” Keeping secrets from him? What else have they been dealing with that he doesn’t know about? 

Red shifts uncomfortably. “I told Vio, and he told Green.”

“Why not me?” Blue asks again, and he can’t keep the heat out of his voice. Red shudders beneath him, suddenly very focused on his knitting project. “Red, why didn’t you tell me?” 

Needles clack in time with the fire’s dying light. There’s wet tracks down Red’s face, still slick with tears. Darkness moves in closer, and Blue can’t stop himself from scanning the surroundings, waiting for a monstrous face to appear from the shadows, an icy breath forming behind him. He can feel his shoulders raise and his jaw clench tight, hands gripping for a weapon that’s not there.

“Blue, why haven’t you told anyone?” A whisper, but to Blue it is the loudest accusation, a thundering drum that tears him apart, laying him exposed in the open.

“Red,” Blue starts.

“You don’t want to burden anyone.” Red turns to face him, holding his gaze. His voice is too steady.

Of course he doesn’t. He’s supposed to be strong enough to carry them, and he can’t do that if he’s too busy dealing with his own problems. Better to jump in and help others and hope to forget his. “That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me.” There’s a fury behind Red’s voice, hardness in his eyes. He’s staring down Blue with a fire hotter than any that have resided in the firepit, more intense than the sun, making Blue want to do nothing but hide from those accusing eyes. “You’ve been lying to yourself long enough. You know why I didn’t tell you?”

Blue doesn’t answer. There’s no stopping a storm, and he knows that.

“We know something has been bothering you for a long time now. You’ve been able to hide it all summer, but I can see it. It weighs down on your back, doesn’t it? You force straight shoulders and hope that no one notices the rings around your eyes, right?” Red’s words are scathing, ripping away every false layer Blue wrapped himself in. “I didn’t want to add more to that. You wouldn’t have left me alone, all while pretending that you had recovered. You haven’t. I know, because when I look in the mirror I see myself reflected in you. I can’t sleep because whenever I close my eyes I can smell smoke and taste death. You’re going through something similar, but you’re too stubborn to talk to anyone about it!”

Blue thinks he’d rather have a sword to his neck than try to answer Red’s anger. Red’s shoulders are raised, fingers tight, and Blue can see his fighting instinct behind each tense muscle. This is a battle Blue was destined to lose.

Blue heaves a breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. “I didn’t want to worry—” 

“You didn’t want to worry anyone,” Red interrupts him, a sarcastic lilt in his voice. “Of course. So you thought bottling it up would be better. Instead of knowing what’s wrong and how to help we’re supposed to watch you destroy yourself. But it’s fine! You haven’t worried anyone. Just everyone around you, unsure how to approach you about it. We’ve had to watch you tire yourself out just so you’d be able to sleep, watch you lose weight because you’re too exhausted to do anything, watch you throw yourself into any situation you can so you can try to forget.”

Red turns away and shuts his eyes tight. Angry tears are spilling from the sides. “We’re all worried about you, okay?” Red says after a moment, voice low.

Shock courses through Blue’s system. He’s frozen, trapped between a wall of accusations and his own stubbornness. Instead of answering, Blue pulls away from Red, gathering his duvet and wrapping it around himself, as if to shield himself from Red’s all too close observations. He rests his head on his knees, feeling tears push up against his eyelids. The room goes blurry, and everything is unsteady. The floor, the fire, his foundation, his misplaced confidence.

Red stands up, and the last beam holding up Blue is knocked down. There’s the crunch of logs being added to the fire but it’s not the cold or the dark that’s causing him to shake. It’s Red, haloed by the fire’s light, face shadowed black as he looks at Blue. He’s bordered by life and death, enveloped by whipping flames, and Blue wonders if he wandered too close to the sun.

Blue looks away, but the image is burned into his eyes. The weight returns to his side and he can hear the clicking of needles. He can hear Red sniffling to his side but doesn’t want to look. If he looks then that means he’s accepting everything that Red said about him. He has to accept that he’s been running from himself, ever since that day so long ago. He’s not sure if he’s ready for that kind of responsibility. 

But that has to change someday.

Blue turns to Red. The fire has been drained out of him and all that’s left is a lone sadness, a type of mourning for those not dead, but unknowingly taking themselves there. It’s the face Red has been haunting him with, quickly covered with a fake smile that never quite reaches his eyes. Blue had figured that he wasn’t sleeping well—which was part of it, sure—but he never thought it was a look only meant for him. He’s been tearing them apart, all while pretending he was holding them up. 

A quiet sob escapes from Blue’s throat. How long has he been torturing them all with this? His eyes are haunted with the ghosts of his friends, forlorn faces asking themselves how to help someone who doesn’t want it. He’s been trespassing their bounds, asking them to never let them help him, even though he would stop at nothing to help them. He would walk to the ends of the earth, he would fight anyone standing in their way, he would let himself die if it came to it, but that wasn’t something he thought they would do for him. 

He is alone, adrift, and he figured he was supposed to stay that way.

Blue’s face contorts into a silent scream, air escaping from his throat with no sound attached. How could he have thought this way of living was sustainable? Relying on no one else but himself? In the end, he was only part of a person, kept alive only by the magic of the sword he is bound to. His existence feels like a test, an experiment to see how long someone can survive on ancient magic they don’t understand. His life is tied to gleaming steel, a sapphire jewel in a hilt resting against the wall of his room. He could be dooming them all, the way he is acting. Any day the force keeping them alive could run out, snapping four back to one and leaving one confused boy, left with a mind fractured beyond repair.

He thought he learned unity, he thought he learned teamwork, but in the end all he learned is the words to say and expressions to show to trick people into believing his lies. And even at that, he wasn’t effective enough.

“Blue?” Red’s hand is gripping his shoulder.

“H-hey,” Blue says shakily. His eyes sting and his lungs burn but he makes sure to keep his breathing even this time. 

“I’m sorry I got mad at you,” Red says after a moment. “I shouldn’t have been so forceful. I’ve just been worried about you and frustrated and it all came out wrong.”

Blue huffs a laugh through unsteady breaths. “It’s probably what I deserved, Red. I haven’t been thinking straight.”

“Still, I should have been more nice about it,” Red frets. “I got carried away—”

Blue pulls Red into a tight hug, cutting off whatever Red was going to say next. Red squeaks beneath him, shocked for a moment, but relaxes into Blue’s embrace. Blue breathes in Red’s scent and for the first time in a long while, he can feel his shoulders drop and the fear leave his veins. Red’s body heat is enough to chase away the ice, and his breath against his skin is enough to dissipate the darkness. 

“Thank you, Red,” Blue murmurs into Red’s neck. He squeezes Red close, then lets him go. He smiles, the effect he was going for ruined by the tears still streaming down his face, but Red beams back at him anyway. 

Blue settles back in, a warmth in his chest burning, and he knows it’s not because of the fire.

Red’s needles click next to him, resting his head on Blue’s shoulder. “I think I might know what’s been bugging you,” Red says after a few minutes, breaking the comfortable silence, “but I think I have something that’ll help.”

Blue twists around to look at Red. “Oh?”

Red’s holding his completed project, splayed between his arms. It’s a scarf, knitted into a gradient of dark to light blue. “I’ve been working on it during the nights I can’t sleep,” he says, handing Blue the scarf. “I wanted to do something to help you. You’ve helped me through a lot of things, and it helped keep my mind focused on something other than the nightmares. I wanted to do the same to you.”

Blue takes the scarf reverently in his hands. It’s soft against his fingers, and he wraps it around his neck. It’s warm, and feels like a gentle hug. “Red...” he trails off, unable to find the words to properly portray how he feels. 

“Do you like it?” Red sounds worried.

Blue smiles softly at him. “Of course I do. It’s nice.”

Red beams back at him, and Blue thinks the heat of his smile will keep away the chill of his dreams. 

\---

It’s Green that finds them huddled up together on the sofa, in front of smoldering embers in the morning. 

Blue’s gathered Red in his arms, the scarf providing support to his neck, Red peeking out underneath the duvet covering them both. So that’s what Red’s project was. They’re still snoring peacefully, and Green hesitates to wake them.

“Hey.” Vio’s voice startles him, and Green forcefully puts a finger to his lips. Vio quirks an eyebrow, and hurries over.

“I think Red finally talked to him,” Green whispers, gesturing to the two sleeping figures.

“Do you think he’ll bring it up with us soon?” Vio asks, matching Green’s tone. “If Red is right, he’ll need help before winter sets in, among other things.”

Green shrugs. “We still can’t force him. It’s going to still be on his timetable.”

“I know.” Vio sounds annoyed. They’ve been through this conversation numerous times. Luckily, Green drops it this time.

“Should we wake them?” Green says after a moment. He’s hovering over the two, eyebrows creased together in concern.

Vio pauses for a moment, then shakes his head. “They deserve sleep. Hylia knows how long it’s been since Blue has actually got some rest.”

“Alright,” Green says, stepping back. “I’ll clear their schedule. I think the rest of the knights will understand. We should leave them alone.”

Vio ducks his head in agreement. “Should we... guard the doors? At least for a little?”

Green hums. “Maybe for a bit. I’m sure Zelda will understand if I’m a little late. Come on, let’s go.”

The two turn back the way they came, closing the door on the sleeping boys. The room plunges back into darkness, with only the smoldering coals left to light the two snoring peacefully together. It’s dark and cold but when Blue wakes up, he will no longer be afraid, not with Red by his side.


End file.
